


Seijou Drabbles

by gnetophyta



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnetophyta/pseuds/gnetophyta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and ficlets about our favourite volley dorks. This was originally going to be about Haikyuu!! in general, but I'M ALWAYS A SLUT FOR SEIJOU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sunscreen (iwaoi)

**Author's Note:**

> Oikawa Tooru absolutely loathes sunscreen, despite how easily he burns. Luckily, he's had a very persistent Iwa-chan in his life to prevent skin damage.
> 
> Inspired by kenmakoto's [post](http://kenmakoto.tumblr.com/post/119649625722/what-if-oikawa-burns-easily-in-the-sun-so-iwa-is) over on tumblr.

When they were but tiny, chubby-cheeked toddlers waddling on the beach wearing tiny sun hats, it was their parents that chased after them, bottles of sunscreen in their hands. Once they were coated in a generous layer of the white cream, the two best friends were allowed to run their pudgy hands through the sand, kick up their plastic shovels, and shriek with delight. Tooru was always the louder of the two, making enough noise for the two of them, but little Hajime never minded. He just liked being close to his best friend.

 

When they were old enough to run across the uneven beach, gap-toothed and squirmy, only Hajime would stay put for the requisite three minutes to let his mom or dad smooth the chilly sunscreen on his already-tan skin. It was up to SPF 45-wielding Hajime to chase down Tooru, who had managed to evade capture by the adults, and pin him down in the shade. Following his mom’s instructions, he messily smeared the sun protection all over his friend, being particularly generous on Tooru’s reddening nose and cheeks.

“Are you my mom, Iwa-chan?” The pinned boy crowed, trying to overpower young Hajime’s vice-like grip on his waist. Hajime only glowered at his friend, adding an extra smear along Tooru’s perfectly straight nose. “Ewwww, that’s too much!”

“At least now you won’t burn, stupid.” Tooru ended up with an uneven tan, a border strongly resembling small fingers across his chest.

 

The summer before middle school, Tooru’s mother didn’t even bother with attempting to catch her son. Once Hajime was slathered with SPF 15, he dutifully picked up the SPF 55 bottle in the Oikawas’ beach bag and took off after the boy with the reddening skin. Tooru was tackled in the sand with a loud “oof!” and he squealed at the frigid sunscreen being rubbed on his back.

“Are you my mom, Iwa-chan?”

“Shut up, idiot.” Hajime smacked his best friend upside the head and drew a smiley face on his lower back. That would teach him.

 

The summer before high school, Iwaizumi and Oikawa came with their volleyball team, and though Hajime tried his best to coerce Tooru into putting on his stupid sunscreen, he had still refused. Resorting to the method that had worked for years, Hajime pulled out a bottle of SPF 70 that was sitting next to his own SPF 15, and sprinted after his irresponsible setter. The best friends were well out of earshot of the rest of the team by the time Oikawa had given up on dodging Hajime, and the dark-haired boy tackled the taller one into the sand. Both were breathing heavily and grinning ear-to-ear as they wrestled, the fine grains getting into their hair and bathing suits. As always, Iwaizumi was the victor, trapping Oikawa beneath him. He squirted a generous amount of sunscreen on Tooru’s stomach, ignoring the squirming protests and swatting his lanky hands away.

“Are you my mom, Iwa-chan?”

“Stop moving or I’ll make your tan look uneven, dumbass!” Oikawa stilled and Iwaizumi allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk.

 

After two years of scarcely visiting the beach due to busy schedules and lots of volleyball, the best friends went together one day. Naturally, Iwaizumi had packed two separate bottles of sunscreen, one for himself and one for his favourite idiot. Oikawa happily helped Hajime with his back, assuming that the goosebumps erupting across his skin were from the sunscreen. Neither of them said anything despite the fact the cream had already warmed in the sun. When it came to his turn, however, Tooru took off like a rocket down the broad strip of sand, laughing brilliantly, head turned to watch the focus on Iwaizumi’s face as he bolted after him. Their races were shorter and shorter as Iwaizumi got faster and taller, but Oikawa wasn’t one to complain. Hajime grunted as he trapped Tooru for the thousandth time, angrily pouring sunblock into his hand. The muscles of the taller boy’s stomach contracted when he felt Iwaizumi’s calloused palm rub across his skin, and he suddenly became aware of a heat rising in his chest that had nothing to do with UV rays.

“Ha! Are you my mom, Iwa-chan?” He teased, distracting himself from the flutter in his belly. Iwaizumi looked impossibly focused on his task, but for anyone who was looking closely enough, they could see a redness rising up his neck.

“Shut up, dumbass.” He growled, suddenly getting up off of Oikawa. “Turn over. Last time your back burned, you whined about it for _weeks_.” Tooru snorted, but complied. Having Iwaizumi straddling him was a little too much to bear, after all.

 

 

Before they went off to University in Tokyo, Oikawa and Iwaizumi made their way to the beach once more. It was still early in the morning, and quiet; they were both hoping to get some time together prior to packing their things. High school was over, and it was going to be strange to be leaving home, even if they weren’t leaving each other. Their knuckles brushed against each other as they approached the water, hearts fluttering, emotions brewing in a way that made them both feel a little sick.

“Oi, Shittykawa, did you put sunscreen on?”

“Nope!” Oikawa winked, sticking his tongue out at Iwaizumi. He was not impressed.

“Come here, then. I don’t want you to go home whining about how your fragile skin has been damaged by the sun.”

“I don’t want premature wrinkles, that’s true! But it might give you a chance with the girls, Iwa-chan!” Tooru shuddered dramatically, holding a peace sign up into the air before sprinting down the beach. Hajime groaned, but sprung forward, knowing that it would have come to this regardless.

“The only person I’m interested is you.” The spiky-haired boy muttered as he ran, secretly hoping his best friend would overhear him. With Tooru’s weaker knee, Hajime caught up with him much more quickly than he had expected to. He wrapped his muscled arms around Oikawa, pinning his arms to his side, and flopped them both down to the sand.

“Oof, you big brute! I am so delicate, and you treat me like a sack of potatoes!”

“You’re about as delicate as I am, Trashykawa.” Iwaizumi laughed, rolling onto Oikawa so he couldn’t wriggle his way out. Tooru gasped, holding one hand to his bare chest.

“How _rude._ I am nothing like you!” Hajime swatted his hand away and began the time-honoured ritual of preventing Oikawa’s sunburns. He was leaning back on his heels when Tooru took the opening and threw him off, leaping onto Hajime’s chest and cackling wildly. “After years, I finally beat you!” He scrambled to his feet, fully intent on escaping his fate, but Iwaizumi lashed out with an arm, grabbing ahold of Tooru’s left ankle and dragging him back down to the ground with a yelp.

“Sunscreen. Now.”

“Are you my mom, Iwa-chan?” Iwaizumi chuffed out a breath, smiling despite himself at how many times he had heard that phrase uttered. It still drove him insane, but he had gotten used to the feeling of perennial irritation. He crawled slowly until he was lying side by side with Oikawa, trying to make out the searching expression in his big brown eyes. Hajime wasn’t sure when their innocent child’s play and glances had become so charged and heavy, but the burning in Oikawa’s eyes was even newer. Hajime drew his fingers gently up Tooru’s side like he had never traced those lines before, smoothing over the dip in his back up to the jut of his shoulder blade. He took the fluttering of Oikawa’s long lashes as encouragement and began tracing patterns aimlessly across the broad shoulders.

“I know I’m distracting, but at least you could put some sunscreen on your hand first,” Oikawa tried to make the tone playful, tried to shrug off the tingling of his skin, but he couldn’t. He was barely breathing, muscles taut with anticipation. Hajime let out a shuddering breath, and Oikawa felt better knowing that he wasn’t the only one losing his composure. There was no doubt that they had been dancing around this sexual tension for years, but neither had wanted to address it for fear of ruining such a strong friendship.

“You’re going to burn, dumbass.” Oikawa felt the words skate across his face, followed by a surprisingly gentle thumb caressing his cheekbone. Iwaizumi’s hand tangled itself in the soft brown hair, now gritty with sand.

“Iwa- _Hajime._ ” Hajime inhaled sharply. Oikawa very rarely used his first name, and it was usually done as a last-ditch effort to distract him; this time was different.

“You’re still going to burn, _Tooru_.” The taller boy bit his lip, inching his face closer, yearning for more contact.

“I’m burning up already.” Tooru mouthed, closing his eyes. Iwaizumi froze, his body starting to shake with suppressed laughter. He couldn’t hold it in and rolled on his back, the spell momentarily broken as Hajime cackled. Oikawa squeaked indignantly, sitting up and dusting himself off.

“You watch too many movies, Oikawa.”

“That was _so perfect_ and you ruined it!” Hajime sat up, sidling over so he was shoulder to shoulder with his ridiculous best friend, facing the opposite direction. He leaned back on his hands, admiring how Tooru still managed to look adorable when he was jutting out his bottom lip like a child. Iwaizumi smiled fondly, reaching out to grasp the back of Oikawa’s neck and pull him forward so their foreheads touched. “Don’t act like you know what you’re doing, Iwa-chan. I can feel your hand shaking.” The jibe was more for Oikawa to save face; he could have sworn the pounding of his heart was audible.

“Shut up. You still need sunscreen, idiot.”

“Can I get a kiss first?” Hajime had never heard Tooru so quiet and uncertain, and he blushed, nodding.

 

 

It was late in the afternoon when two very red boys appeared before their mothers, fumbling out explanations for why they each had only two distinctly hand-shaped patches of un-burnt skin on their backs.


	2. nerves (matsuhana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mattsun and Makki have pre-first day of work jitters and eat way too much cake at 3 in the morning.

            Matsukawa was always the peaceful sleeper, lying stock-still on his back from the moment he fell asleep until his alarm went off. The only reason why Hanamaki knew this, aside from having been his roommate for three years, was because the wall between their two rooms was paper-thin. The sounds of Matsukawa _not_ being able to sleep were hard to miss, and Hanamaki could hear every rustle of his sheets, every clack of his keyboard, and every grunt he ever tried to muffle.  Takahiro never mentioned any of this, of course, but there was a distinct benefit to being a night owl: he had _so much_ blackmail material on his best friend that it was unreal.

            The night before both were set to start their first full-time jobs as new graduates, Hanamaki was lying awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Issei was rustling up a storm in the room next door, and that wasn’t helping either of them fall asleep. Sure, they were both nervous, but they were lucky enough to have been hired by respectable companies; there was no need to worry. And yet, here they were. Matsukawa tossing and turning, and Hanamaki trying to see if he could be more rigid than the walls surrounding him. The clock ticked past three a.m., mocking them.

            “Issei, stop fidgeting.” Takahiro banged once on the wall, hoping that would be enough to still his roommate. The silence stretched for minutes before a sharp knock on Hanamaki’s door startled him. A bed-rumpled Matsukawa peeked his scruffy-haired head through a small gap in the doorway.

            “I can’t.”

            “You’re useless. All I can hear is the sound of your cheap sheets whistling as you try to strangle yourself with them.” Hanamaki glared pointedly, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. Matsukawa ruffled his own hair sheepishly.

            “Sorry.”

            “I can’t sleep, either.” He crossed his arms behind his head, tilting his head back up towards the ceiling. “I’m going to have to learn how to go to bed before one in the morning now, I guess.” Matsukawa padded over to his friend’s bed slowly. Hanamaki shifted over to let him plop down next to him. They sat in the quiet for a while before Hanamaki slipped out of his covers and announced he was going to grab something to eat.

            “You’re going to eat now?” Matsukawa got to his feet and followed his roommate out the door and into the kitchen.

            “Can you think of anything better to do? Aside from keep me awake with your endless squirming?”

            “Watch a movie? Contemplate the futility of life?” Matsukawa suggested.

            “I can do both of those things after I’ve had dessert.” Takahiro was already waist-deep in the fridge.

            “I thought you said you were making-ah, yes, dessert _is_ food.”

            “I can make you something, if you want. Microwaveable ramen is my specialty, after all.” The buzzing of the refrigerator and the shuffling sounds of a box of cake being extracted from a plastic drawer muffled Hanamaki’s voice.

            “It doesn’t count as a specialty if it’s the only thing you know how to make, Takahiro.” The man addressed thumped his head against a shelf in his hurry to make a threatening face at Matsukawa.

            “Better than I was when we first started living together.”

            “You still forget to put water in ramen. Where do you think the liquid comes from?”

            “Listen, if you’re just going to be a dick about my culinary prowess, I’m not making you anything.” Hanamaki hip-checked the fridge door to close it; his hands were too full with cake, strawberries, whipped cream and milk. Matsukawa snorted, helping him with the precariously balanced containers.

            “I can make myself ramen.”

            “We haven’t even started our working lives and already you’re trying to get rid of me. Fine, I see how it is.” If there was one thing that Hanamaki excelled at, it was sarcastic responses and doling out sass. Neither he nor Matsukawa were very good at honest, heartfelt conversations, but they had learned to dig past the bullshit to get to what they really meant.

            “Just because you won’t be able to force me to play your stupid RPGs between classes doesn’t mean you’ll be rid of me. Maybe I’ll start writing you romantic notes and leaving them in your coat pockets.”

            “Matsukawa Issei, the doting wife.” Hanamaki rinsed the strawberries and carefully let them tumble into a bowl on the counter.

            “Why am I the wife?” Matsukawa picked up a knife and began slicing the fruit.

            “Hmm, I don’t know that any woman would keep her eyebrows as big as yours, so I guess that won’t work. But what I _didn’t_ hear was you complaining about being married to me.”

            “What soul in their right mind would marry you? I thought your eternal single status was implied.” Narrowing his already half-closed eyes, Hanamaki squeezed a dollop of whipped cream onto his hand and smacked Matsukawa’s cheek with it.

“I am a treasure, Mattsun. A treasure.” He cut a quarter of the cake and slid it onto a large plate. Matsukawa absent-mindedly placed strawberry slices around the wedge of chocolate, still covered in whipped cream.

            “The only people that believe that are people that don’t know you.”

            “Just like your mother is the only person that finds you charming.” Mattsun feigned being stabbed in the heart, staggering back against the counter, and sliding to the floor.

            “You wound me, Makki.”

            “Shut up and come eat cake.”

            “What happened to my ramen?”

            “Oh, all of a sudden you’re not Miss Independent?” Hanamaki deadpanned, eyes flicking from Matsukawa’s eyes to the whipped cream on his cheek and back.

            “What, you want to lick it off?”

            “Nah, you’d enjoy it too much.” Hanamaki whipped his head forward and hurried out to the balcony. It wouldn’t do to risk his best friend seeing the blush creeping up his neck. He, in turn, missed the longing look directed at him. Matsukawa joined him out in the uncharacteristically brisk summer air moments after, wiping the rest of the whipped cream off his face with a rag. “You forgot these.” He thrust forward a fork for each of them.

            “Well, I was planning on eating with my face. Looks like you’ve ruined that dream, too.”

            “I am way too tired to keep up with your sass, Takahiro.”

            “Don’t flatter yourself, you can’t keep up even when you’re fully awake.” Hanamaki shoved a forkful of chocolate cake in his mouth, throwing up a peace sign with his free hand. Matsukawa could only laugh, shaking his head. They leaned on the railing, balancing the plate between them, a cool breeze raising goose bumps on their arms. Eyes fixed on the twinkling stars above, both men sighed.

            Once the plate had been polished off, Hanamaki put it on their makeshift table and moved closer to Matsukawa’s side.

Issei turned to look at Takahiro, who was closer than he remembered him being. Matsukawa’s breath caught in his throat and he nudged his best friend to make him stop observing him with that strange intensity. They’d had charged moments like this before, instances that they’d never addressed for fear of the unknown, and it didn’t look like they’d be changing that pattern anytime soon.

Nervously, but deliberately, Hanamaki reached his hand out, wrapping around the back of Matsukawa’s neck, and brought their foreheads together.

“We’ll be fine, Issei. It’s just work. Like school, but we finally get paid.” Hanamaki’s breaths brushed Matsukawa’s lips and he briefly wondered what would happen if he leaned in to taste him just a little. “Besides, you can continue being your useless self after five p.m. and on the weekends.” Issei felt a light tremble in the hand now resting on his shoulder, and pulled back, fearing he’d lose self-control and do something stupid.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. We should go to bed if we actually want to be functional tomorrow morning.”

“It’s already tomorrow morning.” Hanamaki quirked up the corner of his lips, but he still looked as disappointed as Matsukawa felt. They shut the balcony door and walked back into the apartment.

“I already regret that cake.”

“You’re weak, Matsukawa.” Mattsun turned into his room, pausing when he realized that his friend was still leaning on his doorjamb.

“I-good night. Thanks for the diabetes.” _Please stay with me?_ Hanamaki hesitated, chuckling, then whispered an ‘anytime.’ This tension was getting ridiculous; one of them would have to make the first move, or else they’d spend forever dancing around each other.

 

 

            Of course he couldn’t find his car keys at the end of the day, of course. Takahiro plunged his hand into the pocket his slacks and groaned when the only texture against his fingers was that of paper, not metal. He pulled the square out and unfolded it, immediately breaking into a face-splitting grin.

 

_Have a great first day! Thanks for keeping me sane._

_-Your doting wife_

_P.s. Want to eat something not-cake for dinner tonight? In a quasi-romantic setting?_

Pulling out his phone, he quickly replied.

 

_it’s a date._


	3. iwaizumi, meet pavlov (iwaoi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa is inspired after a psychology lecture and uses poor Iwaizumi as a test subject.

            Given how long Iwaizumi Hajime had taken to decide on his electives, most of the spots in the easy classes had been filled up. Of course, Oikawa too had waited to make sure that they spent the maximum possible time together despite their different fields of study. Iwaizumi had grumbled all the way through the registration process, complaining about how it was bad enough that they lived together, but this was more of a force of habit. He loved his perfectly coiffed idiot and knew well that he’d be bored to the moon and back without his antics.

They had both chosen to take the introductory psychology course because Oikawa wanted to understand the “inner workings of his brute of a boyfriend,” and Iwaizumi announced that he had an interest in learning how to cope with narcissists. Oikawa had squawked indignantly at that comment, smacking Hajime in the head with one of their many decorative pillows.

            On a brisk Tuesday morning in November, the two huddled together for warmth as they scurried to class to avoid being late for the third time in as many lectures. The lecture for that day was on Pavlovian conditioning, and judging from a certain mischievous twinkle in Tooru’s eye, this was of direct relevance to his demented interests. Hajime side-eyed the positively _glowing_ Oikawa and wondered what fresh hell he was about to unleash on his life. Having known the man for his entire twenty years on the earth, Iwaizumi had learned many defensive tactics for Oikawa’s schemes. Only recently had he begun implementing preventive measures in anticipation of disaster, and Hajime knew by Oikawa’s excited leg jiggling that he would desperately need a plan of some sort. The psychology class, in retrospect, had been a terrible idea.

            While Tooru was orating about his newest wave of admirers on the way back, Hajime was busy searching his partner’s face for any hints of the storm to come. He found nothing but a brilliant smile and eyes crinkled with delight, but began formulating a plan regardless.  

            By 7 pm, Hajime had yet to come up with anything reasonable and opted instead to review the day’s readings over a cup of tea. Finishing a _whole entire_ _paragraph_ before Oikawa sprawled himself across his lap demanding attention, Hajime gave up on that pursuit as well. Besides, Tooru’s sprawling usually led to being naked, which usually led to sex, and that was something that not even Hajime could complain about.

            “Iwa-chan, here! I brought us some chocolate!” Tooru sat back on his heels on the couch, and Iwaizumi’s lap felt strangely cold at his absence. Breaking off a piece of the bar, Tooru extended his long, graceful fingers slowly and carefully towards Iwaizumi’s mouth. Hajime was well aware that he was in the process of being seduced, and not even his awareness of the obvious ploy to get into his pants could stop him from falling for it. Oikawa let the tips of his fingers linger on Hajime’s lips as he slipped the square of chocolate on his tongue, moving to straddle the shorter man.

            “If I fail this class, it’s your fault, Shittykawa.”

            “Is this your way of telling me that you _don’t_ want a blowjob?”

            “N-no.”

            “Good. Not like you have a choice anyway, Iwa-chan.” Hajime always came undone watching Oikawa bite his lip coyly, acting like every time he wiggled his boxers down was the first time.

            One orgasm later, the two were curled up on the couch, Oikawa using Iwaizumi’s chest as a pillow, and the latter using his boyfriend’s head to prop up his textbook.

            “This is hardly romantic, Iwa-chan!”

            “I swear, it’s like your memory is wiped clean every day. When has either of us been romantic on purpose?”

            “I guess you’re right. You’re not the Prince Charming in my story – you’re the dragon!”

            “Dragons are cooler anyway. You can save yourself, princess.”

            “So rude!” The protest was only perfunctory; Oikawa grinned and stroked lazy circles on Iwaizumi’s forearms.

* * *

            Oikawa’s scheming face had gone on holiday the next day, and Iwaizumi allowed himself to relax. His boyfriend had brushed off whatever idea had come to him during that one class, but for some reason, Tooru had begun buying a lot of chocolate. Hajime shrugged it off as one of his strange obsessive phases and moved on with life.

            Several evenings later, as he licked melted chocolate from the pad of Oikawa’s thumb, Iwaizumi caught a glint of manic glee in the other’s brown eyes.

            “What is that look, Oikawa?” A shirtless Hajime propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Tooru kneeling between his legs.

            “What look?” Tooru pulled his hand back, sucking on his thumb in the most obscene way, eyes burning into Hajime’s.

            “It doesn’t matter.” Iwaizumi grunted, flopping himself back on the bed and letting the gorgeous man unbuckle his belt.

* * *

            Before class one morning, Oikawa slammed Iwaizumi up against their bathroom door, aggressively pushing his tongue past Hajime’s lips. He tasted slightly bitter then, like dark chocolate mixed with the coffee he had undoubtedly just chugged from Iwaizumi’s mug. Hajime contemplated pulling away and reprimanding Tooru because they were about to be late  _again_ , but changed his mind pretty quickly when Oikawa sunk to his knees, fiddling with the button of his pants. He carded a hand through the chocolate-brown locks, fingers tightening on the sensitive scalp. It’s not like Iwaizumi was one to complain about the attention so early in the day.

* * *

            Hajime came home to Oikawa baking cake the next week, and it wasn’t long after he licked the chocolate icing off the column of Tooru’s throat that they ended up having sex on the kitchen floor. Sanitary? Debatable. Excellent? A resounding yes.

* * *

            Tooru handed his boyfriend his Godzilla mug, filled to the brim with his hot chocolate.

            “You’ve been drinking too much caffeine, Iwa-chan! Have some of this instead~” Oikawa took a slurp from his mug, eyes peering over the top to watch Iwaizumi.

            “So you think the sugar rush will be better for me?”

            “It may help with your bitterness, you grouch!” Hajime rolled his eyes, taking a long drag of the cloyingly sweet drink. He wasn’t usually a fan of the beverage, but today, it made something stir in his gut.

            “What did you put in this? It’s really-,” Hajime sipped again, oblivious to Tooru’s face-splitting grin. “-really good.”

            “TLC, Iwa-chan!”

            “TLC?”

            “Tender Loving Care, obviously!”

            “That smile tells me there’s something else in here.”

            “Nothing, I promise!” Hajime narrowed his eyes. Not that it was surprising, as they were both often horny, but at that moment, Iwaizumi was overcome by a desire to tear Oikawa’s clothes off. So he did, amid yelps of half-hearted protest.

* * *

 

            Coming back from class on a Friday afternoon, Hajime walked past a cupcake bakery that Tooru had been raving about. He stopped in and picked up a few chocolate ones, figuring his boyfriend’s obsession with the flavour hadn’t ended yet. When he served them on plates at home, he found it was a messy business. Hajime licked the icing off his fingers and felt a weird squirming in his stomach. Oikawa raised one well-manicured eyebrow in response to Iwaizumi’s confused face, and sunk his teeth into a cupcake to hide a grin.

The cupcake lay forgotten on the table as Hajime shucked Tooru’s pants off with maximum expedience, the latter’s chuckling quickly reduced to breathy gasps.

* * *

            Hanamaki and Matsukawa came over for their monthly movie night, bringing dinner and dessert. At Oikawa’s insistence, Hanamaki had brought something  _other_ than profiteroles for dessert (for once), but he did wonder why Tooru implored him to buy something with chocolate in it. Wasn’t milk bread his favourite?

            “So, how’s that psych class going for you two? Killed each other yet?” Mattsun wondered, licking stray sprinkles from his fingers.

            “I thought I’d learn more about how to tame Neanderthals with limited feelings, but it turns out this is only for evolved humans!” Oikawa yelped when Iwaizumi smacked him upside the head.

            “Nothing on self-obsessed dumbasses, either.”

            “Hey!”

            “You can’t insult me and then get mad when I do it back, Shittykawa!”

            “Does the professor use you two as an example of an unhealthy relationship?” Hanamaki quipped, facial expression almost entirely suggesting boredom, save for a twinkle in his eye.

            “Our relationship is not _unhealthy_.” Oikawa and Iwaizumi hissed in tandem, glaring daggers at Makki, then staring each other down and bursting into laughter. Oikawa picked up a chocolate donut hole and shoved it in Iwaizumi’s open mouth, giggling and falling back on the couch cushions. Mattsun and Makki joined in the laughter as Iwaizumi struggled to chew on the dessert.

            “Ah, one day, that’ll be us, Makki.” Matsukawa placed a hand on his chest and batted his eyelashes at his friend.

            “What, choking each other with chocolate balls?”

            “Maybe not chocolate-“ Matsukawa replied, raising an eyebrow. The four men burst into peals of laughter once more. Swallowing the remainder of the dessert, Iwaizumi quickly realized that the weird squirmy feeling he had been getting after eating chocolate was getting stronger and he had been having difficulty differentiating it from arousal. The smile faded from his face as he came to terms with the fact that he was strangely turned on, and at a very inopportune time, and Oikawa’s thigh was brushing his.  He stood, covering the front of his jeans just in case it was obvious and excused himself for a moment. Oikawa’s eyes followed him to the bathroom, barely suppressing a delighted squeal. Mattsun and Makki trailed Oikawa’s gaze, confused, but familiar with the slightly insane flailing of their captain.

            “Okay, Oikawa, what did you do?” Mattsun stared at the innocently smiling setter.

            “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything!”

            “You did something to Iwaizumi, and you had that crazy person look in your eye when he got up.” Hanamaki added.

            “It wasn’t a _crazy person_ look! I did nothing.” Oikawa crossed his arms, tilting up his face to underscore his point.

            “Oikawa.” The two men sitting opposite him said in unison.

            “I just wanted to test one of the psychology theories we learned about.”

            “You brain ninja-ed your boyfriend?”

            “It sounds so bad when you say it like that, Mattsun! I just wanted to see if it worked.”

            “You are the _worst._ ”

            “Makki!”

            “You are. Now, what theory was it?”

            “It wasn’t a theory, so much as-“

“What was it.” Makki insisted.

“Pavlovian conditioning.” Oikawa proceeded to explain his devilish plans to a disbelieving crowd.

Iwaizumi returned to the living room a few minutes after Oikawa had finished his explanation. All three men stared up at him immediately from where they were sitting. Oikawa quickly averted his gaze, busying himself with some loose crumbs on the coffee table, but Mattsun and Makki managed to keep eye contact for a solid thirty seconds before bursting into hysterics. Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed so much that they were almost closed.

“Oikawa, what did you do?”

“Why do you always assume it’s me?”

“Because you’re the only one that looks guilty, and those two,” He gestured at their wheezing guests, “aren’t jackasses.”

“He-“ Mattsun began, but was quickly overcome with another bout of laughter.

“Your _boyfriend-_ ,” Makki took over, hiccupping before he continued, “-used Pavlovian conditioning on you!”

“What.”

“Makki!” Oikawa gritted through his teeth.

“It’s too late!” Matsukawa yelled, dodging as Tooru dove for Hanamaki across the table. Makki moved his head to avoid being smothered by Oikawa’s palm.

“Shittykawa, what the HELL?!”

“He trained you to get turned on every time you so much as smelled chocolate!”

“MAKKI, YOU TRAITOR!” Oikawa whined, clambering to his feet. Hanamaki lay on the ground clutching his stomach.

“What.”

“Makki, you’re so mean!”

Suddenly, a lot of things made more sense to Hajime. The chocolate-scented candles, the chocolate _everywhere_ , how Oikawa would always have chocolate on his lips when he kissed Iwaizumi, or before they had sex. That asshole. It was his fault he got an awkward boner in class when the girl next to him had offered him a square of her giant chocolate bar.

“Holy shit, Oikawa.”

“I love you?”

“I am going to murder you in your sleep.” Hajime stepped closer and Tooru backed up, body tensed and ready to bolt. Mattsun and Makki watched the scene, nibbling chips, eyes glued. At that moment, there was no better entertainment than the Oikawa and Iwaizumi show. Iwaizumi flinched and Oikawa bolted to the bedroom, Hajime hot on his tail. Even the neighbours heard the shriek of “DON’T KILL ME HAJIMEEEEEEEEEEE!” as Tooru got tackled.

"I just hope they don't end up having rage sex while we're still here." Makki deadpanned.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these idiots so much.
> 
> As always, come yell about Haikyuu!! with me on [tumblr](http://gnetophyta.tumblr.com)


	4. never take iwa-chans to paintball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://volleyball-crow.tumblr.com/post/121203872913/how-to-care-for-your-iwa-chan)! 
> 
> Iwa-chan is upset about...something. Oikawa organizes a team paintball day to cheer him up, but ends up getting way more than he bargained for (and not just aggressive bruising).

Most people had a lot of trouble deciphering Iwaizumi’s feelings, though that wasn’t surprising in the least. His features were set in a scowl by default, and he wasn’t exactly what one would call open or vocal. The one person who could tell between the ‘you are on my shit list for eternity’ frown and ‘I’m unsettled by my marks in Japanese’ scowl was Oikawa, and today, the tall brunet was flitting around his (in)visibly upset best friend.

“Iwa-chaaaaan~” He began, unwrapping his milk bread, subtly watching Iwaizumi from the corner of his eye.

“Not today, Oikawa.” Too tired and frustrated to even tack on his usual insult, the spiky haired boy took a drink of water and looked off towards the sliver of horizon visible from the buildings around their school.

“I know you’re not concerned about frown lines, but you’re going to have to look good to play on the world stage with me! I’m not above botoxing you in your sleep.” Oikawa smiled jovially, taking a small but messy bite of his snack. When Iwaizumi didn’t so much as move to hit him in retaliation, Tooru became concerned. Belatedly, the shorter boy threw his arm out and smacked his friend in the head.

“Hey.” Oikawa spoke more softly, the teasing lilt in his voice all but gone. Iwaizumi continued absentmindedly picking at a stray thread on his blazer. “Iwa-chan?” Oikawa pressed his knee against his friend’s, now acutely aware that something was very wrong. He would absolutely never in a million years admit it, but Hajime craved physical affection when he was upset. Tooru had never explicitly voiced that he had figured this out, but he’d made sure to always physically reassure Hajime when he needed it. This was one of those rare times. Oikawa sidled closer on the bench, pressing their sides together and resting his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Hajime shifted, reintroducing space between them. Tooru frowned slightly (but not too much because of potential wrinkling), at a loss for what to do. He had entered uncharted territory with _his_ Iwa-chan. The Iwa-chan he thought he knew inside and out.

“I should get back. Lunch is almost over.” Hajime stood, gathering his things and avoiding looking at Tooru.

“We have another twenty minutes! Sit down, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa patted the spot next to him, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

“I’ll see you in class, Oikawa.” With that, Iwaizumi left. Oikawa watched him walk away, catching the slouch in his shoulders. Tooru really had nothing to say, and had lost his appetite. He stuffed his half-eaten milk bread back in its wrapper and headed back into school.

To others, Iwaizumi seemed fine, but every time Oikawa so much as glanced back during their math class, he would avoid eye contact. The teacher called Tooru out on being distracted no fewer than seven times in forty-five minutes, and while that would normally have Hajime raging at him in frustration via glares and texts, today he was just silent.      

            Iwaizumi’s performances at practice over the next week didn’t suffer markedly, but Oikawa’s silent dread grew larger and larger in the pit of his stomach. He seemed to be the only one that noticed the slight lag in his ace’s timing, the minor discrepancies in aim and the faintly weaker serve.  What was happening to his best friend that he wouldn’t even come to Tooru?

            After practice, Oikawa corralled his team, performing a stylized Macarena while they gathered. Iwaizumi huffed, trying not to laugh, and shoved his friend. The underclassmen jogged over, the level of enthusiasm varying with age, but their fellow third years took their sweet time.

            “Stop dancing, Assikawa. You’re scaring Kindaichi.” At the very mention of his name, Yuutarou stiffened, looking down at the floor.

            “Not only him. I’m horrified.” Hanamaki said, appearing by Oikawa’s side.

            “Makki, who told you that you could gang up on me with Iwa-chan?” Matsukawa stepped into the circle casually, hands on his waist.

“We signed a blood pact to make fun of you for the rest of your natural life. Can you hurry this meeting up? I’m insanely hungry and Hanamaki promised to buy dinner.”

            “Keep dreaming, Lord Eyebrows.” Takahiro muttered, rolling his half-lidded eyes.

            “Mattsun! So rude. Iwa-chan is rubbing off on all of you! Why can’t you behave like Yahaba? Or Kunimi?”

            “Because Kunimi is the only person here that has managed to fall asleep with his eyes open, and Yahaba actually respects you.” Matsukawa shrugged, gesturing to the other players. Kunimi continued staring at a point on the wall, and Yahaba allowed himself a small smile.

            “Man’s got a point.” Makki added, smacking Matsukawa’s butt. Oikawa spluttered, swatting at Matsukawa’s face. Even Iwaizumi managed a breathy chuckle, which warmed Tooru’s heart considerably. Maybe his best friend wasn’t completely lost to him.

            “Insubordination! You are terrible, Mattsun! Anyway, now that we’re all here, I just wanted to invite everyone to paintball this Sunday! We’re going to do a team bonding activity, so you should all try to be there. Iwa-chan and I are going to each captain a team, so-” Collectively, the entire team pointed to their vice-captain and stated they wanted to be on his side. Oikawa reddened to the point of steaming at the ears.  “I am a very good captain, thank you!” Despite the fact that the whole club was suggesting he was useless off the court, Oikawa was pleased at the level of enthusiasm for the activity. Even Iwa-chan looked pleasantly surprised. Actually, he looked _terrifyingly_ excited. Tooru began to regret his choice of activity for the grand ‘Cheer Up Iwa-chan’ plan.

            “You are, Oikawa-san, for our volleyball team. Iwaizumi-san is just good at everything else.” Kunimi commented quietly, seemingly mentally present in the moment at last. Oikawa gaped at him. Matsukawa and Hanamaki started howling with laughter, and the rest of the team bit their lips, smiling.  Iwaizumi gave Kunimi a subtle thumbs-up.

            “Et tu, Iwa-chan?!”

            “What are you talking about, Oikawa?”

            “You uncultured brute. Okay, so we’re going to split into teams in the order we arrive. I’ll text everyone the address. Is two pm okay?” A chorus of agreement rang out. “Now go take down the nets and clean up!” The team dispersed, leaving Iwaizumi and Oikawa standing together in silence.

            “Paintball will be fun.” Iwaizumi stated, walking off with the intent of helping Kindaichi carry the net poles into storage. Oikawa tilted his head while watching him, trying to read his blank expression.

 

\---

           

The team members’ arrivals had been staggered conveniently, so it was easy to sort the boys into squads. Iwaizumi was captain of the blue team, accompanied by Matsukawa, Kyoutani and Kindaichi (who were both quietly _ecstatic_ about their team placement). To balance out the uneven number, Oikawa’s red team had five people, consisting of Hanamaki, Watari, Kunimi, Yahaba and Oikawa himself.

After being briefed on safety and suited up appropriately, the teams split up. In the short time it had taken them to get their gear on, Iwaizumi had surreptitiously taught his team several hand signals, and established a plan of attack. There may have been pre-drawn diagrams involved. Oikawa’s team, however, received a brief pep talk followed by a cheery peace sign and “Good luck! Make sure to hit Iwa-chan a lot!” Tooru knew he was likely up against terrible odds because Kindaichi and Kyoutani would act as Iwaizumi’s bodyguards and sacrifice themselves for his honour, and Matsukawa was known to be frighteningly competitive when there was food on the line. Not that Oikawa had forgotten the original purpose of this trip; the primary objective was for Iwaizumi to let off some steam and hopefully perk up. Winning wouldn’t be too terrible, though.

They started a thirty-minute timer.

“Are you ready, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi called from somewhere to Oikawa’s right.

“Rude! But yes, we’re ready~”

“GO!” Instantly, there was faint rustling to be heard all over the play area as the teams maneuvered around to better locate the opposing team’s flag. Oikawa had hung his red flag on a bush and ordered Kunimi and Watari to guard it, taking an incredibly fired up Yahaba and an equally intense Hanamaki with him on the offensive. The plan was to flank the blue team’s defenders and overwhelm them, since they had the disadvantage of one fewer player. Oikawa had assumed that Iwaizumi would either put three players on the offensive and leave one to defend, or split his team up evenly. Knowing Hajime, he would prefer the former. He was always a ‘the best defense is a good offense’ kind of guy. Tooru crouched behind some low brush, peering around it to scan the perimeter. He caught sight of Yahaba across the open field in front of him, signaling for him to move towards the tree from which the blue flag hung. Hanamaki rushed by behind Oikawa, startling him badly enough to squeak and hit a branch. The shorthaired boy snorted and did an overdramatic roll to a nearby barrel, clutching his gun to his chest.

“Oikawa, you’re going to give away our position.” He hissed at his captain, poking his head out from behind the metal barrel.

“No, I won’t, Makki! Now let’s get going!” Oikawa was only marginally quieter than a siren when he whispered long-distance, so it wasn’t long before a few projectiles sailed over his head, hitting the tree behind him with a dull thunk. He yelped, curling into himself and tightening his grip on the weapon in his hands. Yes, Oikawa, take Iwa-chan to paintball. What a great idea.

Trees and brush surrounded the play area, making the field feel somewhat claustrophobic and increasing the intensity of adrenaline because you never knew how close your enemy really was. The sun was high in the sky still, beating down on the team and making them sweat in their protective gear. Tooru gestured for his hidden attack team to follow him through the bushes, running in a crouch. He mimed wildly, attempting to ask Yahaba whether he had eyes on the scrap of blue fabric rippling in the wind. Yahaba raised his hands in a confused gesture, leaving himself momentarily vulnerable above a blind. It was when the first blue splatter blossomed on Yahaba’s chest that the noise level began to climb. Matsukawa had pegged his underclassman and sprinted back behind a wooden box by the flag. Oikawa waved Hanamaki over as Yahaba exited the field of play with his gun in the air. A curse or two floated back to the team captain.

“Don’t be a potty mouth, Yahaba!” Oikawa chirped.

“SHIT!” Matsukawa had shot several times in Hanamaki’s direction while he was reworking his team’s strategy. Takahiro nearly bowled Oikawa over with a mad dive behind the plywood wall.

“I almost had you, Hanamaki!” The middle blocker yelled, disappearing once more.

“Yeah, good luck with that, you turd!” Takahiro called back, smirking. Oikawa surveyed the scene then ducked back, pulling his teammate closer.

“I think Iwa-chan only has him guarding the flag. He’s not really a fan of defense, so we should come around this side. You go find Mattsun and I’ll get the flag!” Oikawa said quietly, sending the strawberry blonde on a chase after his hidden best friend. The captain broke out into a crouched run, swiveling his head frantically to stay on guard. Two paintballs collided with the tree right in front of Oikawa’s chest and he squeaked, dropping down behind a barrel. He panted from a combination of exertion and adrenaline.

“MEAN, MATTSUN! I’m your captain!” Tooru yelled.

“Not today, Oikawa!” Several projectiles collided with the barrel, a metallic ringing echoing out.

“MATTSUN!” Matsukawa’s laugh broke into a startled cry. He staggered out into the clearing, and collapsed theatrically.

“I have been mortally wounded! Hanamaki, how could you?”

“Eh, you weren’t useful to me anymore. It’s time for you to join your ancestors _beyond_ the grave.” Hanamaki stepped out, miming closing Matsukawa’s eyes in death.

“I’m not dead yet! Give me a few minutes for a speech, at least.”

“Shhhh, it’s okay. You can have your peace.” Hanamaki ran a gloved hand along the side of the helmet tenderly.

“Romeo and Juliet~ We’re still playing! MAKKI, WATCH OUT!” Oikawa called, watching in horror as both Kindaichi and Kyoutani emerged from hiding by the flag. Iwaizumi had _out-thought_ him. Did Iwa-chan really think he could-

“Save yourself, Kunimi!” Oikawa’s head turned in the direction of his flag. Oh no. Iwa-chan. He heard two shots and then saw Watari and Kunimi’s raised guns. Turning his attention to the standoff in front of him, Oikawa tried to figure out the fastest route to the flag that would take him away from Iwaizumi’s loyal guard. Using the standoff as a distraction, Oikawa sprinted behind the two defenders, closing the distance between himself and the scrap of blue fabric. Just as he leapt into the air to grab it, Iwaizumi materialized in front of him, already clutching the red flag. Assuming Oikawa would somehow dodge him in midair, Iwaizumi stood his ground and ended up being steamrolled.

“Shit, Oikawa! You’re fucking heavy when you land on me!” Iwaizumi growled, his hands sitting on his friend’s thighs. Tooru had managed to right himself so he was now straddling Hajime. He pulled off his helmet, put down his gun and tapped the visor of Hajime’s helmet.

“You okay, Iwa-chan? I think your head is harder than the ground, so you should be fine!” Tooru flashed a peace sign. Hajime looked away, removing his own helmet.

“Idiot.” He muttered, pushing Oikawa off his lap. Iwaizumi tapped the tree the blue flag was hanging off of and smiled. “That’s one-zero for the blue team.” Hajime bellowed and three voices answered back with cheers. Kyoutani, Kindaichi and Matsukawa ran over, exchanging high-fives. Oikawa just huffed.

“Rematch.”

“Bring it on, Trashykawa.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the next round, Iwaizumi pegged the entire red team in under five minutes, including a flailing Oikawa. Oikawa thought this was acceptable, since Iwa-chan seemed to be enjoying himself, but he wasn’t too fond of repeatedly losing. He came up with a new, brilliant plan to destroy the blue team.

 

* * *

 

 

They were defeated in three minutes; only Mattsun helped Iwaizumi this time by violently tackling Hanamaki and distracting him into submission.

 

* * *

 

 

Seven minutes.

 

* * *

The timer read a surprisingly long twelve minutes for blue team’s next victory because Iwaizumi took time out to teach Kindaichi how to aim better during a crossfire.

 

* * *

 

The next time, Iwaizumi ran through the course like Rambo, destroying Oikawa’s team, claiming the red flag and climbing a tree to proclaim victory. Oikawa was fuming, fists clenched at his sides. Iwa-chan was obviously happy enough, so it was time to bring out the big guns.

“Red team! Gather around, it’s time for a pep talk!” Oikawa began, attempting to fluff his sweat-soaked helmet hair into something presentable. His soldiers dragged themselves over, removing their respective headgear. Hanamaki was sporting his most unimpressed look yet, which was a cross between his normal bored expression and bone-chilling rage. Tooru recoiled. Kunimi was as placid as ever, Watari was vibrating with nervous energy, and Yahaba was doing his best unconscious impression of Kyoutani. Oikawa planned to harness their discontent and surge into a turnaround.

“Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san is terrifying.” Kunimi commented, brushing damp strands from his forehead.

“Kunimi, Iwa-chan is a big lug, but he is not without flaws. We just need to find them, and _crush him_.”

“Oikawa, you realize that there is no way we’re going to beat Iwaizumi unless we all go after him at once? There is no strategy aside from that.”

“Makki, I am not going to stoop to his level of- of- inelegance!”

“Oikawa, Iwaizumi has literally painted a volleyball on your back over the course of the past rounds. There is _no other way._ I’m really impressed with his art skills and aim, though.”

“What?” Oikawa squeaked, craning his neck to see the design. “I can’t see it, Makki!”

“It actually is really impressive.” Yahaba said, nodding. Watari and Kunimi shrugged in agreement.

“Why does everyone hate Oikawa-san, hm?” Oikawa put his hands on his hips, turning a scrutinizing eye on his team members.

“We don’t hate you, Oikawa, we just recognize that your boyfriend is a _beast_ at anything involving sports.”

“Makki, Iwa-chan is not my boyfriend!” The captain yelped, scanning the rest of the boys for reactions, then averting his gaze. Nobody seemed fazed.

“Right. Just like Matsukawa and I aren’t boning. Now. Let’s just go after Iwaizumi and then worry about the flag.” Watari choked on his own tongue, saved only by Yahaba smacking him firmly on the back. Kunimi’s eyebrows raised a fraction of a millimeter, which spoke more volumes than the Encyclopedia Britannica. Oikawa gaped. “Really? It’s not that surprising.”

“Actually, most of the team bet that Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san would get together first. We’ve had a lot of money riding on this for awhile.” Kunimi stated, with the air of one commenting on the weather.

“I like our kouhai.” Makki patted Kunimi on the back, smirking. Tooru was catatonic.

“Oikawa-san, should we get back to paintball? Iwaizumi-san and Matsukawa-san are waving us over.” Watari gestured to the other end of the field where Mattsun was making a ‘bring it on’ gesture, then pushing his tongue into his cheek lewdly. Iwaizumi smacked him upside the head, laughing.

“Later, Mattsun!” Hanamaki yelled. “We’ve never been subtle about it, and you all picked Oikawa and Iwaizumi? Really?”

“In all fairness, it seemed intentionally obvious, and we figured you were trying to coax our captain and vice into admitting their own feelings for one another.”

“Gross. I DON’T HAVE FEELINGS FOR IWA-CHAN!” Oikawa screeched, staring over at Iwaizumi. The dark-haired teen’s shoulders fell visibly as he turned away.  Oh. Oh no. Oikawa watched Matsukawa slap his friend on the back, smiling as he told a joke. He really needed for this game to be over so he could go talk to Hajime. Oikawa’s teammates looked from him to Iwaizumi and back, wide-eyed.

“Strategy, captain?”

“Just get the flag. Hold on.” Tooru jogged over to the other team. “Iwa-chan, can you come here for a second?”

“No, Oikawa, we’re about to start a match. We can talk later.” Iwaizumi didn’t so much as turn towards the taller boy.

“Oh, okay, that’s fine! I’ll talk to you later!” Hajime waved a hand dismissively.  Fuckfuckfuckfuck. It was not fine. They had entered extremely not fine territory.

 

* * *

 

 

They lasted for another two sweaty games before the red team conceded defeat. Oikawa learned that emotionally compromised Iwaizumi was a terror he never wanted to experience again, and accepted the fact his team had gotten swept 8-0.  In fact, it didn’t mean much, because the thought that he had hurt his best friend was making his stomach churn. The other members of Oikawa’s team high-fived and congratulated the blue team, somewhat disheartened, but energized from the workout of running, dodging and diving. They all slowly stripped off their equipment, chatting amid playful shoves and taunts. Iwaizumi smirked at funny comments, but kept his body closed to Oikawa’s approaches. It was the most literal use of the cold shoulder that Oikawa had ever experienced, and it made his heart ache and gut lurch unpleasantly. He loved Iwaizumi more than anything; yelling that he didn’t have feelings for him was as big a lie as he could have ever told.

Once all the equipment was stowed, the volleyball team began cataloguing bruises. Iwaizumi had not gotten hit a single time by virtue of being inhuman (and Kyoutani had sacrificed himself twice, but the rest of the team was peppered with spots.  Kindaichi pointed out a deep purple blossoming on his upper leg from Yahaba’s masterful takedown in the second game, but was overshadowed by the brutal splatter of mottled blue spreading across Hanamaki’s back.

“Hanamaki-san, are those from this game? I didn’t think I hit you in the- is that a bite mark?”

“Yes, Kindaichi, it is.” Matsukawa beamed, making uncomfortable eye contact with his underclassman.

“Mattsun, stop being a pervert in front of the children.” Iwaizumi admonished, throwing a clean shirt at the taller man. They resumed analyzing the ‘coolness’ factor of their bruises for some time, but none was as impressive as the darkening volleyball now temporarily marking Oikawa’s back. The design spanned the width of his waist and would have been uncomfortable had the setter’s mind not been worlds away.

The team departed slowly, each player making his way to his separate train until finally, Oikawa and Iwaizumi were left in tense silence.

“So, did you have fun today?” Oikawa began, adopting the cheeriest tone of voice he was capable of. Iwaizumi stood stiffly next to him at the stop, a much larger space between them than there routinely was.

“Yeah. It was a good idea.” Tooru felt a twinge in his chest when he heard Hajime’s voice. He sounded exhausted, but not in the physical sense; this was Iwaizumi when he was emotionally winded. Oikawa turned to him, opening his mouth to speak, but he found himself at a loss for words. Finally, he reached a gentle hand out to Hajime’s arm. They stood there quietly, Iwaizumi adamantly staring down the rail tracks while Oikawa clutched the sleeve of his t-shirt desperately. At least Iwa-chan made no move to shake Oikawa’s hand off.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-Hajime-” He started, but Iwaizumi cut him off.

“For what? I’m not mad at you.” Hajime turned his head slightly so he could observe Oikawa out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re not?”

“Why would I be? It’s not like you’ve been any more annoying than usual.”

“Iwa-chaaaaan.” Oikawa whined, but saw the faintest of smiles tugging at his friend’s lips. “I didn’t mean to say that it would be gross if I had feelings for you, I mean, we’re best friends. Of course I have feelings for you-” Tooru felt more and more sick as the words tumbled out. “-I care about you a lot.”

“It’s okay, Oikawa, really.”

“It’s not! You’ve been so distracted all week, and you hardly even called me names at practice!”

“So, now it’s a problem if I _don’t_ insult you?” The smile grew. Oikawa found himself mirroring the expression despite his queasiness.

“Well, yes, no, but. Gah, Iwa-chan! You’ve been weird and I want to know why you won’t talk to me.” Tooru finished with a pout, scooting in to rest his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“I’m fine, I told you!” Hajime raised his voice without meaning to, and Tooru stood up straight.

“You’re not! Don’t bullshit me, Hajime. Anyone else, just not me, please.” For the first time in what felt like days, Iwaizumi squared his shoulders in Oikawa’s direction, meeting his gaze.

“I’m okay. I just-ah, Oikawa, you’re-okay. I was watching one of my mom’s stupid movies with her, and after she went to bed-“

“Iwa-chan, are you gonna confess that you like chick flicks?”

“Shut up, Trashykawa!” Iwaizumi stopped, turning away.

“Nononono, I’m sorry, please tell me.” Oikawa grabbed his best friend’s shoulder, pulling him around again. His chocolate eyes were pleading.

“Fine. So, I ended up watching the whole thing and it was so stupid, just some idiot romantic movie about two people falling in love and-“ The expectant look on Oikawa’s face combined with the sparkle in his eyes was too much, and Iwaizumi dropped his gaze to the floor. “I guess, out of nowhere, I sorta realized that I maybe could be sorta in love with someone.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, still fixated on his shoelaces.

“Iwa-chan has feelings?”

“Shut up, it’s embarrassing, I know, okay?”

“That’s why you were all weird?” It was really difficult for Oikawa to pretend like his heart wasn’t threatening to tear out of his chest.

“Yeah.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so?”

“Who-who is it?”

“I’m not telling you!”

“Iwa-chan, I’m your best friend!”

“No, that’s why it’s embarrassing.” Hajime heaved a great sigh.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa nudged him.

“No.”

“Iwa-chan?” Another nudge.

“No.”

“Iwa-chaaaaaan~” Oikawa rubbed himself on Iwaizumi’s side, nearly toppling him.

“Stop!”

“But I tell you everything!”

“No.”

“Iwa~Iwa~Iwa-channnnnnnnn~”

“Stop! It’s you.” Oikawa barely heard it and needed confirmation. He _needed_ it to be real.

“What?”

“It’s you.”

“Iwa-chan?”

“It’s you, okay? It’s you! Shit, Oikawa. How many times do you want me to say it?” Hajime looked away, shrugging Tooru’s hands off his shoulders. His chest was heaving with too-shallow breaths.

“It’s me?”

“ _Yes._ ” Hajime hissed, his fists clenched by his sides. Oikawa inhaled deeply then exhaled a small ‘good.’ Iwaizumi leaned away, narrowing his eyes. “Why is that good? Are you happy that my life will continue to revolve around you?”

“Of course, Iwa-chan, but nothing would change that!” Iwaizumi fit his lips into a scowl before he had a chance to smile at Oikawa’s statement. Tooru fidgeted. “It’s good, though. Very good.” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, still looking a bit nervous. Oikawa held his gaze firmly, unblinking, unreadable. His mind was trying to catch up to the fact that Iwaizumi had been upset because he was in love with _him_ of all people, and that he, Tooru, had never really expected to have his feelings returned. Tooru traced the strong lines of Iwaizumi’s face with his eyes, appreciating how different he looked when there was fear in his features. Not that Oikawa wanted Iwaizumi to be afraid, but it was so unusual that he couldn’t help but catalogue the moment.

“Stop staring at me, Shittykawa.” A broad palm, slightly sweaty, pushed Oikawa’s face to the side.

“Eww, Iwa-chan, you’re all sweaty and gross. Can’t I just admire how handsome you are without you being mean?” Oikawa fumbled out the last few words, wringing his hands and staring down at the pavement. Iwaizumi flushed, pressing his lips into a thin line. They were both silent for a moment.

“Is your back okay?”

“Hm? It’s fine. I’m used to it feeling sore from serving too much, after all!” Iwaizumi smacked him.

“Idiot.”

“Holy shit, are you gonna kiss already, or what? We’re tired of crouching behind this damn wall.” Matsukawa crawled out from behind a small divider at the station, his joints cracking. Hanamaki emerged right behind him, rubbing his hip and wincing.

“Makki?! Mattsun?! What are you-?” Oikawa and Iwaizumi turned, horror written across their faces.

“We take the same train, remember? We just wanted you to have some time to talk, but we still needed to get home. Ergo, we hid.” Hanamaki gestured to their hiding place.

“We just thought you’d get it over with, make out, then call it a day. For someone who is supposedly suave, you’re awkward as hell, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi and Oikawa didn’t really understand why Matsukawa was approaching them so slowly, but they were too distracted to fully process anything at that moment.

“Why-you-gya!”

“Matsukawa, I’m going to kill-“

“Now kiss!” Mattsun palmed the back of each of their heads and pushed their faces together, admittedly a bit more roughly than was entirely necessary. “Your years-long pining has been _so_ painful for all of us.”

“You know, when you said you’d do it, I didn’t think you actually would.” Hanamaki told Matsukawa, leaning on the wall. Iwaizumi and Oikawa were still stuck together, for lack of a better way to describe it, but Issei looked pleased with himself.

“I was really just over having to deal with the sexual tension during our practices. Okay, guys, you can stop now.” Apparently having discovered the joys of making out, Iwaizumi and Oikawa were now reluctant to stop. Hanamaki rolled his eyes.

“Come over here, Issei, let’s show ‘em how it’s done.” Matsukawa obeyed, chuckling, and let Hanamaki pull him closer.

“’Kay, sure, _Casanova_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY. I worked on this forever, and suffered, and it was meant to be 1000 words, but yeah. It's not a ficlet by any stretch of the imagination, but I hope y'all like it! I'm also struggling to not write MatsuHanas into everything. I LOVE THEM.
> 
> Feedback would be greatly appreciated!


	5. grass (matsuhana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on this [post](http://lokiloo.tumblr.com/post/78922231498/i-was-looking-through-flower-language-meanings-and)! Hanamaki tries to confess to Matsukawa and fails spectacularly. Hilarity ensues!

            It’s not a big deal, Hanamaki told himself. It’s really not a big deal. He stood awkwardly in front of Matsukawa’s home, fidgeting, waiting for him to come out. The tuft of grass he had torn from the park around the corner was beginning to slip out of his sweaty fingers, so he nervously rearranged the blades in his fist. His heart was pounding in his throat, nearly choking him, but he had decided today was the day. It was going to happen. It had to. Third year was very nearly over, and though they were going to the same university, Hanamaki felt like he should make his Big Gay FeelingsTM known. Or something.

 

 

            It had all started when one of the girls in his year had brought in a book on flower language and insisted on reading entries out loud between classes. Normally, Hanamaki could not have cared less about the content, but the phrase “homosexual love” had piqued his waning interest in the affairs of people around him. He had strained his hearing listening to her soft voice read out an entry on grass, no less. Takahiro sighed. Grass. At least it was cheap, he mused, burying his head in his elbow on the desk. His years-long crush on Matsukawa had become all consuming in the past few months, and Hanamaki was ready to just get on with the confession and move on with his life. Giving his best friend a handful of grass wasn’t exactly how he imagined confessing, but flower language meant something, right? Maybe it was romantic. What did Takahiro know, after all? His idea of a perfect date was gorging on sweets after an afternoon of sweaty volleyball.

 

 

            Hanamaki was squirming and about ready to throw up from nerves. For some reason, the normally punctual half of their dynamic duo was taking the better half of an eternity to get ready to go grab ice cream. Realistically, it was probably Hanamaki’s anxiety-twisted perception at that moment that drew out his five-minute wait. When Matsukawa finally stepped out of his house and closed the door behind him, he looked deeply concerned.

            “Makki, are you okay? You’re really pale.” Hanamaki stared at his friend’s feet, clenching the grass in his fingers. “Hello?” Taking a deep, rattling breath to steel himself, Takahiro took a step towards Issei and _threw_ the grass at him. Why he threw it, no human could really rationalize, but that’s exactly what happened.

            “There.” Makki muttered.

            “Why the hell did you just throw grass at me?” Matsukawa dusted off the blades clinging to his sweater.

            “I HAVE A BIG GAY CRUSH ON YOU, OKAY, GOD.” Out of the corner of his eye, Hanamaki saw Matsukawa shaking with his hand across his mouth. Takahiro looked over and realized that the bastard was _laughing_. “Why are you laughing? It’s not that funny! I just _confessed_ to you and-“

            “Makki, you just threw grass at me and then yelled about your crush. How is that _not_ funny? Why grass? What is going on in that head of yours?”

            “In flower language, it means homosexual love, okay? It was stupid! Fine! Just reject me so we can forget this ever happened.” Hanamaki crossed his arms and made a show of looking anywhere but in Matsukawa’s direction. Despite his obvious embarrassment, he stood rooted to the spot. Issei took a stride forward, gently scooping up some of the grass on the way towards Takahiro.

            “Give me your hand.”

            “What now?” Hanamaki huffed, extending a hand out suspiciously. Matsukawa took Hanamaki’s clammy hand in his broad palm, and dropped a few dusty blades of grass into it. “Wait, but-”

            “You are such an adorable dork. You literally threw grass at me to confess, Makki. How could I not accept?” Spluttering, Hanamaki stared at their joined hands. Matsukawa just chuckled, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “I am never, ever letting you live this down, you Romeo, you.”

            “I will murder you if you tell Iwaizumi or Oikawa. I swear on everything I hold dear, you will die.”

            “You know, threats are a lot less effective if you’re smiling like that.”

            “I hate you.”

            “Your projectile confession tells me otherwise.”

            “I maintain that I hate you.”

            “Please just don’t throw my ice cream at me. That’s a little messier.”

            “ _Issei_.”

 

Matsukawa chuckled all the way to the corner store, and well into the night, holding the hand of one blushing Hanamaki.

           


	6. those we leave behind (matsuhana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grief manifests itself differently in different people
> 
> WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH :'(

“I mean, this is easily the most shit present you have ever given me for my birthday. You’re usually pretty impressive, but if someone had written a book on shit presents, this would be number one. Actually, it wouldn’t even be in the book. It is so bad that nobody would even think to include it. Total dick move, Issei.” Takahiro laughed wryly. The hand gripping his shoulder was too slim to be the one he was hoping it would be, but he reached for it reflexively. Iwaizumi was staring off into the distance a few metres away, suit jacket undone, hands thrust so deeply into his pockets that he was straining the lining. Oikawa offered Hanamaki a handkerchief, face etched with worry and emotional exhaustion. His eyes, like Hajime’s, were red-rimmed and glassy, but Takahiro was still smiling lopsidedly; he hadn’t stopped since the phone call two days earlier.

“You know,” Hanamaki began, gesturing with his left hand, silver glinting, “At least now I don’t have to deal with all your stupid limbs all over the bed. And I can have un-burnt scrambled eggs, because you never learned the settings between ‘off’ and ‘house fire’ on the gas stove you insisted we get.” His voice wavered slightly, but he soldiered on. “I’m also super pissed that I didn’t get birthday sex, because what the hell? So inconsiderate. Rude, even.” Takahiro took a tentative step towards the temporary headstone, pointedly averting his eyes from the characters engraved on it. Tooru took a deep breath next to him, and Hanamaki almost jumped, having forgotten he was there. “Hey, Tooru?”

“Yes?” Oikawa took his hand.

“Could you leave me alone with this jackass? I’d rather not have a family squabble in front of you and Hajime.”

“Yeah, of course. We’ll wait for you by the car.” Tooru gave Takahiro a watery smile, then gestured to Hajime. The two walked off slowly, hand-in-hand, exchanging a pained glance. Hanamaki slipped off his suit jacket, dropping it unceremoniously by the freshly turned earth. He flopped onto the ground, unconsciously leaving enough space for another person on his right.

“I know you’re really into being a giant absentee douche right now, but at least promise me one thing. Could you come back as a spirit, or something? Just imagine how much shit you could get up to. You could scare the crap out of Tooru and Hajime, haunt random people, rearrange all the vegetables at the grocery store. Hell, I’d even take-” Takahiro’s voice broke, and his plastered on smile began to turn down at the corners. He gazed up at the clouds to dry his eyes, inhaling shakily. “-I’d even take you showing up all ghost-like in our kitchen at four in the morning to bang around pots and pans, eating my profiteroles or rearranging my underwear drawer to make me crazy - I don’t care. Just. Even a ghost of you would be better than nothing, Issei. I don’t know what to do without you. I don’t. You were everything good that was in me-you were everything-”

Oikawa threw a hand over his mouth to muffle his sob when he heard Hanamaki’s teasing cadence from far behind him give way to a broken wail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	7. things you said... (matsuhana)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since they're too short for individual chapters, I've just tossed these three little prompts into one together. Two have already been posted on tumblr, the third one hasn't! 
> 
> ...also, I am so weak.

**Things you said under the stars, in the grass.**

 

            “I’m not much for grand romantic gestures,” Hanamaki commented, rolling up a large blanket to put into Matsukawa’s backpack. Hanamaki was very much into grand romantic gestures, but he never wanted to admit it. Luckily, his boyfriend of many years had long since caught on.

            At midnight, Matsukawa was spreading the flannel square across recently cut grass in the park near them, thanking the gods for keeping the skies beautifully clear that night. The two then laid next to each other, pointing out the constellations in the glow of the full moon.

            “Makki?”

            “Yeah?”

            “What’s your favourite star?” Matsukawa watched Hanamaki turn towards Sirius. He extended his arm and pointer finger in its direction, too focused to hear the rustling of Matsukawa’s pockets. Matsukawa’s heart was hammering in his chest as he reached up and slipped a carefully selected band on Hanamaki’s ring finger. All he heard for the ten agonizing seconds after was a chorus of cicadas in the dark.

            “Are you really so confident that you’d just stick the ring on there without so much as asking?” Matsukawa swore he could see every single one of Hanamaki’s teeth suddenly glint in the moonlight. He grinned reflexively.

            “I had no reason to believe you’d say no. But, just to confirm, is that a yes?” Hanamaki breathed his affirmation into a deep and slow kiss, promising forever.

 

 

**Things you said when you were scared.**

 

             Hanamaki told a joke, but Matsukawa’s laugh was hollow.

             “Hey, Issei, we’ll be fine.” Takahiro reassured, rubbing his boyfriend’s upper arm tenderly.

             “What if- I can’t imagine what they’re going to say. What if they disown us?” Issei looked frantic and pale, his eyes darting around nervously. “I know we’re adults, but I can’t imagine not having my family there for everything, you know? Takahiro, I’m terrified.”

             “Think about it this way. Even if they do disown us both, at least you’ll always have me.” Hanamaki smiled genuinely, his laugh lines already evidence of a well-lived twenty-two years. Matsukawa took pause as a smirk found its way onto his lips.

             “Shit, I’m really screwed then, aren’t I?”

 

 

**Things you said when we were the happiest we ever were.**

 

             “Hey, I’m Hanamaki Takahiro. Wanna warm up and maybe start some shit later?”

             “Yeah, sure, I mean, weren’t we sort of dating anyway? Does this mean we get to make out now?”

             “I love you. _And_ your unreasonable eyebrows.”

             “I found an apartment that’s really nice. It’s near that burger joint you like – I mean, my meat is _better_ , but- don’t give me that face, Issei. You like my meat just fine.”

             “Good morning, asshole! Breakfast is on the table, and I managed not to screw up your prissy coffee. No, stop! No, don’t kiss me when I’m trying to be mad at you. God, you’re disgustingly cute. Ugh.”

             “Don’t tell me you- is that a puppy? Issei, did you bring a dog home? Issei. I am so mad- look at his tiny little feet! Look at them! Are you seeing this? Look at this fluffy little asshole! Stop laughing. You know I’m weak.”

             “Thanks. I really needed that today. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

             “So-um-will you-okay, uh-NO! You don’t get to say yes before I’ve even said it! Of course I’m salty! You’ve interrupt-“

             “I do. I _guess-_ ow, Hajime! Worst best man ever.”

 

 


End file.
